


Kindred Spirits

by PickledTeeth



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Flower Bouquet, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burnish, Slow burn over six chapters, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, eventual kiss, hand holding, they both awkward boys, woah that’s a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledTeeth/pseuds/PickledTeeth
Summary: “That ain’t true Kieran,” Lenny speaks warmly. Kieran realizes with a jolt that Lenny uses his real name instead of O’Driscoll, “Arthur and Mary-Beth like havin’ you around. Hell, even I like havin’ you around. You seem like a decent enough feller.”Kieran looks into Lenny’s eyes, expecting to see some sort of lie hidden under them. He sees nothing except truth, “You really mean that?”“Course I do. Never judge a book by its cover. Hosea told me that.”—————A tiny story with my two favourite boys :)
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Leonard "Lenny" Summers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. book covers

“You alright there?”

Kieran looks up from the sharp bristled brush in his hands, expecting to see the angry, weathered face of Bill or one of the other camp men who miraculously decided to climb up to his small scout campfire. He had been sitting peacefully by himself, watching the fire flicker and grow, watching the flames licking at the logs beneath them. Watching and thinking about his current predicament with the Van Der Linde Gang. 

When he looks up, he nearly drops the horse brush onto the dusty ground at his feet. 

It’s Lenny. He stares down at him in slight concern, brush poised above Maggie’s almost clean flank, eyebrows pinching in together as he examines Kieran's body language, his face. 

“I’m peachy,” Kieran sighs in a hushed tone after a moment of hesitation, a moment of staring at Lenny. He swings his eyes back towards the fire, a sense of unease prickling under his skin. He can still feel Lenny's gaze lingering on his back, “Just peachy.” 

Lenny hums, lets the brush fall from Maggie’s strawberry coloured flank, dust trailing in the bristles wake. Maggie swings her broad head around, and wiggles her lips disapprovingly at the man, expectancy in her large brown chocolate eyes. He hesitantly rests it against her side, all gumption of brushing her forgotten. 

“You sure?” Lenny tries again. 

Kieran was not expecting to hear his voice again. He looks back over his shoulder, stares at him in surprise. Kieran opens his mouth to retort a sharp comment, but he finds he cannot form proper words.

Nobody really asked him that before. Nobody really cared about their resident O'Driscoll enough to ask and prod on how he's doing. When he gave a half-assed response, they usually left him alone to his own devices. They didn't poke any further than they needed too, left Kieran to wallow in his own bubble of sadness and regret. 

After a moment of realizing he's been staring at Lenny, he goes to speak. Again, he finds it hard to talk. 

Lenny, thankfully, fills the silence with a cleared throat. 

“Only asking since you been picking at that brush for about fifteen minutes now.” His eyes flick to the comb laying now forgotten in Kieran’s hands. 

Kieran looks down at the brush in his palms, fingernails dirty from specks of dust and clumps of dirt, hands stained with horse smell and hair. 

He realizes with a jolt that he _has_ been cleaning and picking at it for fifteen minutes.

Lost in his simple movements, lost in the mediocracy of it all, lost in his mind. Simple. Routine. 

Like scrubbing the saddle, or brushing the horses, or picking their hooves clean with the rusted metal hoof pick that always sat in his pocket. It reminded him of days long lost to the past, days of caring for horses in the stables, days of working in the fields with his father, working at the house with his mother. Memories decaying to the public, but preserved in his mind like fine china. 

Kieran shakes his head suddenly, a noise of frustration springing from his throat as he tosses the brush to the side dismissively. It lands with a dull _thump_ by a rather large rock, getting _completely_ dusty and dirty in the process, ruining his hard fifteen minutes of work. 

Kieran, out of the corner of his eye, can see Lenny trying very hard not to laugh, mouth covered with the hand holding his own brush. When he sees Kieran is watching him, Lenny wavers and lets the laughter die out of his eyes. He coughs into his hand and continues to brush Maggie. 

“Just thinkin’ is all,” Kieran speaks. He places his boney elbows on his knees and leans forwards, hands folded together and eyes fixated on the roaring fire, “Thinkin’ and watchin’.”   
  
“Everybody’s thinkin’,” Lenny says as he places his own dull wooden brush on top of a nearby rock. Seeing he is done, Maggie snorts dismissively and trots off towards the other horses where they sit chuffing at a square bale of hay fed to them not long ago. Lenny slides into the seat next to Kieran and imitates his sitting position. Kieran wonders if it’s voluntary, “You seem to be troubled.”

His observation shocks Kieran near to his core. He tries to keep his face neutral, tries not to let his surprise show through the mask of nonchalance. The most he lets out is a twitch of his eyebrow. 

Kieran didn’t think anyone really cared about his feelings, much less wanted him to talk about it. Kieran feels a strange pull, a pull of _tell him about what’s troubling you._ There’s another part of his mind that thinks this is some sort of cruel joke.  
  
That Lenny was stationed here, placed here by someone to get Kieran exposed and open like a wound rubbed raw from days of horrible misuse.   
  
But the way Lenny was watching him made it seem like he actually cared. Concern flooded his calming eyes, face lax and listening for Kieran's next words.

Finally, after what seems like hours of silence, Kieran exhales sharply and sits upright, back knocking against the rock behind his chair. 

“Nobody here trusts me, Mr. Summers.” He states it in a matter-of-fact tone, like it should be common knowledge within the camp. With how everyone treated him, with distaste and anger, frustration and sadism, it really should be common knowledge. 

Lenny, however, has the audacity to look surprised. 

”Maybe before. But not now.” 

“How?” Kieran challenges.

Lenny falls silent, stews on what he’s about to say. He raises his hand likes he’s about to say something detrimental to Kieran’s obvious theory, but he lets it fall to his thigh, fingers tapping against the rough fabric of his pants. Kieran does not feel the need to say _I told you so,_ though with anyone else, he'd freely say it.

Instead of watching Lenny’s coffee coloured eyes any longer, he looks back to the fire. 

“I ain’t welcome nowhere. Not at the O’Driscolls, not at the stables I used to work at as a boy, and certainly not with you boys.” He doesn’t mean to say it in such a dejected tone, but he cannot stop the sadness from creeping into his words. He lets his posture fall hunched, shoulders rolling forwards and head hanging, “Seems nobody wants me around.”   
  
Kieran thinks Lenny might leave at his pitiful spectacle. 

There’s a weight beside him, and the smell of horse and lavender steals away the scent of campfire and sweat. Lenny has scooted his chair over, leaving behind dark imprints in the ground where the legs drug along, Out of habit and nasty past experiences, Kieran wonders what Lenny’s motive is. 

“That ain’t true Kieran,” Lenny says warmly. Kieran is pleasantly surprised when he notices that Lenny uses his real name instead of the coined term O’Driscoll, “Arthur and Mary-Beth like havin’ you around.”

Lenny looks to where Mary-Beth is sitting at a nearby table, sheltered from the heat by the large oak tree rooted in the middle of camp. Her nose is buried deep in a book, green eyes fluttering from word to word, mouth moving to read letters out loud. The epitome of peace. 

Kieran cannot read the title of what book she is reading.

“Hell, even _I_ like havin’ you around.” Lenny smiles brightly, “And I don’t say that ‘bout most fellers.”

Kieran seems to get dazed by his grin, his infectious happiness. He fights the need to smile back, however hard it is. 

“You seem like a decent enough feller.” Lenny says after a moment. 

Stars burst inside his chest, warmth spreading throughout every crevice of his body. It's the most he's ever gotten out of the Van Der Linde's, a compliment that means more than it should. To others, it would have been a bland statement that would have warranted a nose in the air and irritated huff. But to Kieran, it feels as though Lenny has given him the world. 

Kieran looks into his eyes, tries to search for some sort of sick lie hidden beneath them.

He only sees truth.

”You really mean that?”

“Course I do. If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have said anything. Never judge a book by its cover. Hosea told me that.” Lenny grins proudly as he reaches over to where he dropped his brush off, slender fingers plucking it from its stone throne.“You gotta get to know em’ before you make assumptions.” 

For the first time since their conversation started, Kieran smiles. 

“Seems like everybody’s judging me by my cover then.”   
  
“We ain’t really given you a chance to show what you’re really like,” Lenny chuckles, “Blame us for that.” 

They both laugh; Lenny’s is warm and delightful, like a warm summer day with a cool breeze following along, kissing your skin. Sunsetty, beautiful. 

Kieran abruptly stops laughing at the thought. _Beautiful_? Now the word is jumping around in his head, and he does not like it one bit.

Fear crawls up from his stomach, latches onto his brain. 

Where had _that_ come from?

Lenny notices his change in mood, and stops smiling so warmly, "Everything alright?"

There it is again. The cursed concern that brought that thought up from a part of his brain Kieran didn't know existed. 

Kieran's eyes are still wide when he looks to him, and he's pretty sure he's paling in the skin. 

"Y-yeah...I'm fine. Just...remembered somethin'."

"Remembered somethin' that has you as pale as Sean?" Lenny shakes his head in disbelief, and Kieran starts to silently panic. Panic that Lenny will pry and somehow get the truth, yell to the others that their O’Driscoll is hiding something, and open a whole other can of worms for him.

To his immense relief, Lenny speaks: "Oh well, I won't pry anymore."

Lenny grins suddenly, not noticing Kieran’s demeanour change, nor how Kieran’s body relaxes at the words he has spoken. 

“Think I got you to talk more than anyone here."

Kieran chuckles nervously, avoids eye contact at all costs, stares down at the ground, eyes tracing the dirt patterns and rocks scattered at his feet. 

He can feel Lenny staring at him, gaze lingering a little too long on his hidden face. 

Suddenly, Lenny sighs, and goes to get up, nodding to the large group of horses near the camp. Kieran tilts his head up slightly, can see Arthur’s appaloosa, Pebbles, among them, her white coat shining in the sun, black spots scattered across her body, few and far. 

“Well, better get back to work.” Lenny stretches his shoulders, and begins walking towards them, “Horses ain’t gonna brush themselves.” 

Kieran doesn’t even give Lenny a chance to leave. He’s up on his feet faster than he’s ever been in his life and grabbing the discarded brush with shaky, nervous fingers. 

“Can I join you?” His voice mirrors his feelings and emotions, nervous and fearful, shaky and wavering. Lenny whirls around at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and eyebrows shot up.   
  
At first, Kieran thinks he’s going to say no. He’s taking awhile to answer back. 

Lenny stares at him a moment before a grin breaks out on his face, welcoming and warm, “Sure!” 

Kieran has never walked faster in his life to catch up with the other man. 

They walk to the other side of camp side-by-side, chattering away like the birds in the sky. They talk and talk while they brush the horses, talking about their pasts and the present and what they hope their futures will be like. 

The entire time Kieran brushes those horses, he thinks about how lucky he is to have someone like Lenny talk to him. 


	2. fishing lures and promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually shocked at how many people like this little fic ;-;  
> Thank y'all so much !

"Wanna go fishing?"

"Fishing?" Kieran's voice is so small that even _he_ has a hard time hearing his own sentence. 

He remains seated at the main table, tucked under the large oak tree smack-dab, relishing the feel of shade against his back. Heat in Lemoyne was not uncommon, nor uncharacteristic; their horses flicked at flies swarming their haunches, the small irritating bugs fueled by the hot sun. Cain laid by the lake, paws dipped in the water and nose on his front legs, eyes closed peacefully and tail thumping softly against pebbles. 

The girls huddled under their caravan, fingers picking furiously at needles and yarn, patching up holes in clothes worn by both genders. Arthur is gone, as per usual, familiar white appaloosa gone from her hitching post. The campfires are devoid of all life, and Uncle sits under the same tree as Kieran, snoring away with hat over his eyes. Everyone, both animal and human, was trying everything to remain out of the furious sun. 

Including Kieran. 

He'd been sitting at the wooden, splintery table, sharpening his hoof pick with a smooth rock found by the cool lake, thinking, pondering. Content and happy with the mediocre task, until Lenny had come walking up towards the table, a silver tinned bucket in one hand and folded fishing pole in the other. 

"Yeah, was wonderin' if you wanted to go." Lenny says hesitantly, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. Kieran can hear the subtle scrape of fingernails against his skin, "Heard from Arthur you went fishing with him, so I figured you might wanna come along with me?"

At first, Kieran thinks its a statement rather than a question. But as the sentence develops in his brain, as it gets picked apart and analyzed, he realizes that It's a question, nervously asked with anxiety tinting the edges. It's a tone Kieran knew all too well.

_Yes. I want to go fishing with you._

"Me?"

Lenny uses the bucket to gesture to the calm waters of Flat Iron Lake. It clangs gently with the sounds of lures nestled together at the bottom, metal hooks clinking and plastic fish bodies softly hitting against one another. 

"Figured you might wanna just fish here. Too hot to ride the horses anywhere."

Kieran flicks his gaze to the quiet, mottled pebbled beach. The rolling waves make for a peaceful sight, scattering beams from the sun shining down on it. It lights up the water, hints of green, blue, and brown dazzling all who looked to it. Jack sits further from where Kieran and Lenny are watching, barefoot and standing in the water, long stick poking at the foamy waves. Abigail watches from afar, cold bottle of beer pressed against her forehead in a desperate attempt to cool off. 

It sounds pleasant to just stand on the rocky shore with waves tickling their boots, to watch the sunset go down as they fished right until dusk. Watch the stars come rolling up from the dark horizon, listen to the nightly crickets sing their tune, hear the splash of a fish jumping from the water. 

Kieran slides both stone and hoof pick into the back of his jeans and stands up. He nods, can't help the smile that tries to worm its way onto his face. 

"I'll grab my fishing pole."

The look on Lenny's face makes Kieran happy he agreed to fish with the other man. He hurries to grab his fishing pole, feeling thousands of eyes turn to watch him move through the thick, sweltering heat. Kieran cannot find himself caring as he reaches for the pole leaning against Pearson's caravan.

"Goin' fishing?" Pearson's voice speaks up, gravelly, nasally, sounding a little drunk. He speaks again when Kieran nods happily, "Good man. Only one that ain't entirely useless in this camp."

"Thank you sir."

Kieran's excited, even more excited than when Arthur agreed to go fishing with him outside of camp. Someone other than Arthur is starting to trust him, starting to realize his worth to the gang. There's a skip in his step as Kieran rushes back to the water's edge, boots kicking up lingering dust from his fast pace. 

The pebbles are mottled and tricoloured, hard and unforgiving under bare feet. Sand crinkles in between the cracks where rocks are too big to reach, and branches and weeds are washed up from the surrounding islands. Reeds clump together on the beach, lumpy and soaked with lake water. 

Surprisingly, Lenny waits to reach into the bait bag (chunks of deer heart, wrapped in brown cloth and sitting on top of the lures) until Kieran is beside him. Kieran does the same, feels the squishiness of the deer heart between fingers, and stabs it on his line. Lenny has a bit more trouble than he. 

"I'm not good at fishing," Lenny admits as he throws his line into the water. The lure hits the surface with a _plink_ , and Kieran is surprised the bait stayed on during it's flight through the air, "Hosea tried teaching me a while back, but I didn't think it was as important as learning to read."

Kieran is quick to throw his rod in just mere seconds after Lenny, and he asks in a voice that seems to ring with contentment, "Fishing ain't that hard. Just put the bait on the line and throw it in the water."

Lenny hums in response. 

Kieran can't help but realize that Lenny seems to know what he's doing when he brings the fishing line up, jerks it when he feels a bite or even a slight nibble. It seems he retained some information from when Hosea taught him.

"Who taught you to read?" Kieran asks, breaks the silence between them. Well, it really wasn't a silence. The waves casting on the beach roll pleasantly, the birds chirp despite the sweltering heat, and a boat honks from the main channel hundreds of metres away. Jack splashes noisily beside them, absolutely soaked to the bone with lake water, still clutching his stick, which is also dripping wet. 

Kieran's own inquiry has him worried for a moment; maybe it was a sensitive topic, one that brought up memories, both unpleasant and pleasant. But when he watches Lenny, he doesn't see a stiffening of shoulders, nor a setting of his jaw. 

"My father. And Hosea." Lenny says proudly, reeling in his lure with nimble fingers. The lure bobs in the slight waves, flashing in the sun, "Both of em' taught me all I knew."

Kieran thinks back to a time where his father tried to teach him how to read and do basic mathematics, but he was too young and stupid to really pay attention to the short, fifteen minute lessons provided in the dark home. He remembers thin, yellowing pages stolen from unsuspecting clipboards, lit up by an old barely lit oil lamp, and an old quill made from a plucked chicken feather. Those lessons only lasted a week before both his parents died from Cholera.

He'd never been taught.

There's a part of him that thinks Hosea would be willing to teach Kieran how to read and write proper, to actually understand what those fancy curves and blocky lines meant. 

"You think..." Kieran starts his thought, but shuts his mouth just as quick. He knows that Hosea would never even _consider_ teaching their resident O'Driscoll skills he might never use outside of camp. It's a stupid fantasy that would never come to light.

Lenny looks to him, pauses in his reeling, stops so the lure stays stationary, "I think what?"

Damn Lenny. 

"You think that Mr. Matthews would teach me? To read?" Kieran's voice sounds wistful. Wistful, though he already knows what the answer is going to be.

_No. Absolutely not. He wouldn't even think of giving his time to an O'Driscoll._

"He might."

The answer he was expecting certainly wasn't _that_. 

Lenny continues before Kieran has any time to speak; "I mean, you _might_ be able to convince him, but..."

 _But Hosea wouldn't say yes,_ Kieran guesses the end of his sentence. Hosea would consider it, though he would never say yes. Kieran would have much better luck asking Arthur to teach him to read from his leather bound journal. 

Kieran feels his hopes dropping with each passing second.

Lenny trails off, shrugging one shoulder in a manner of _I don't know_. He starts reeling again.

"I could teach you without all the hassle of asking Hosea." Lenny's voice is uncertain, softly spoken, and Kieran wonders if he even heard the other man _right_. Kieran stalls and he finds he cannot form words to counteract Lenny's sentence.

Lenny swallows and recasts out, and Kieran can see him trying very hard not to stare at Kieran's brain meltdown. 

"Y-you..." His voice cracks sharply, and he clears his throat, cheeks starting to heat up. It's not from the sun, "You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lenny says, tugging as though he felt a fish bite at the hook. He speaks again as he lets the rod relax into the water, "I wouldn't mind teachin' you."

Kieran feels warmth bloom in his chest, one that spreads through his entire torso and makes him smile genuinely. It's an emotion he hasn't felt in a long time. Pure happiness.

"Well...I wouldn't mind learning from you either." Kieran says, tries to keep the giddy happiness he feels from seeping into his voice, from making him giggle like a school girl on her first date. He hopes that Lenny thinks that the redness in his face, the hotness of his cheeks, are from the sweltering sun hanging just above them.

"Your mind might change after the first few lessons." Lenny laughs. 

And Kieran decides that is the most wonderful thing he's ever heard in his life.

He's okay with that.


End file.
